This is a true story about what happened during school yesterday. It is in my point of view. I tried hard not to use the names of the real people so it just says "the girl". I don't know if it sounds right. Should I put in the names or make up different ones? Hope you like it, I know it is really short.
~peanut~
My tears aren’t for her, nor are they for the pain she feels as her heart shatters. I can almost hear it like broken glass smashing and falling around me. The crystal tears that fall from my green eyes are for him, her other half.
I have been told not to cry. My friends have threatened me with words because they don’t want her to feel any worse. Their comforting words are blocked by the pressure of the tears I hold back.
Dark hands of the clock on the far wall tick slowly. They move as if the world has stopped spinning, I know that is what everyone else at the table is thinking as they whisper kind words. The tears from her eyes splatter against the wooden tale. Her mascara leaves a trail of black tears on her red cheeks.
I can’t watch her any longer. I turn my head and blink back the water to keep it from leaking out of the corner of my eyes. I can see him over the heads of the other kids. More than likely he is talking about what she is telling us right now.
I try not to say anything, biting back the comments that want so badly to be heard. The note she wrote him is still folded in my palm. Slowly I move my hand from under the table and place the paper in front of her.
I don’t look at her because to my left the other girls are begging me not to cry. I just stare at the clock waiting for it to be over. They don’t know why I am about to explode with anger or why the tears threaten to roll down my cheeks. I tell myself that they weren’t there and that I can’t tell them, his girlfriend is the only one who knows and she isn’t even thinking about it as she wipes her tears.
They weren’t there when the summer mornings cried the tears I wanted to unleash. As the thunder clapped and the vibrations of my cell phone sent shivers down my spine. They didn’t have to hear the promises of suicide if something happened, the threats that he’d hurt himself if she ended everything.
But that was then, almost five months ago and the dread I never thought would come back has returned. A whistle blows behind us and everyone except me and two other girls leave, including my best friend who thinks her world is crumbling.
The other two move closer as my tears finally slip, the text messages from those summer mornings coming back to my memory. We say nothing until we have to leave.
“He’s crying too,” my friend whispers as we pass the boy who cries with his head bowed.
